Maybe it's just jealousy
by Justnyxie
Summary: Billie's mixed emotions about Green Day's new drummer. Set back in 1991 when Tre Cool first split the scene. Billie Joe feels left out when Mike seems to be spending more time with the drummer than he is with him.
1. Chapter 1

When Tre Cool first started as the drummer for Green Day, Billie Joe couldn't help be jealous of the man. There was no doubt that Mike really liked the guy. He has insisted that he was the best drummer for the job and furthermore, ever since Billie had reluctantly said 'Yes' to allowing him to join, Mike had been spending damn near every day with him. Him and not Billie Joe.

It was stupid, and Billie knew that, but he couldn't help but feel second best. He and Mike had been friends since they were ten but as soon as some…floozy with a drum set comes along, Mike is worshipping him like a god. Almost nine years of being partners in crime and now he was getting in the way of it.  
Mike and Billie Joe were living in a small apartment at this time, with two rooms and a bathroom. The shared the bedroom, a single mattress at either side of the room, a small table in the center and posters all over the walls. Their clothes all hung in the one wardrobe in the living room, where there was also one brown and weathered couch, a small black and white television and a coffee table. The kitchen had seen better days. The fridge worked, thankfully, the sink was a bitch for backing up, the stove was a hazard and the microwave had its days. The small bathroom was the smallest of the rooms. It contained a toilet, a cream sink and a shower and bath combo. The window was simple and small, allowing minimum light in. The place was a hole; but a comfy hole at that.

Tre was always there though. He was always hanging out with Mike, drinking their beer, smoking their weed and watching their television. Billie sat with them, trying to convince himself that he was wanted; but, often, he just didn't feel it.

It had been going on for months and Billie, being the neurotic guy that he is, took it to heart. As the days passed he felt more and more abandoned by his best friend. He felt stupid for feeling so hurt, for letting Mike get to him like that. None of it was doing anything for Billie Joe's poor confidence.

Needless to say Billie's self esteem was wearing thin with every day that passed. He couldn't quite figure out what he had done to push Mike away like that. Was it him? Was he a bad person? Why did seeing Mike hang out with Tre hurt him so much?

Every night he lay on his mattress, Mike no more than a few feet away, and mulled over the whys and how's. It resulted in many a night of silent tears and less sleep than he cared to admit.

**************

"You look awful BJ." Mike said.

Billie was huddled into a ball on the couch watching cartoons. Mike set down a mug of strong coffee on the table in front of the boy and then sat on a pillow by the end of said table. Billie simply glanced over at him when he spoke and nodded.

"Dude, seriously, are you okay?" he pressed.

"Yes." Billie Joe muttered, keeping his eyes on the black and white characters.

"You're a bad liar BJ."

"I'm fuckin fine! Okay!" Billie pulled himself into a sitting position and drew his knees to his chest, "Just drop it okay."

Mike made a low whistle.

"Time of the mouth much?" He joked.

Billie Joe gnawed on his lower lip. His tempter was wearing thin and he could feel tears forming in his eyes.

"If you're snappy and not sleepin' , don't take it out on me, man." Mike continued.

That was it. Billie bounced to his feet, throwing his arm out and knocking the coffee flying in the process.  
"Fuck you Mike!"

The bassist watched as his best friend strode from the living area and slammed the door of the bathroom. Moments later he heard the rushing water of the shower.

Mike didn't go after him. He knew when to leave the singer alone. But, for once, he had no idea what Billie was acting this way to begin with. Usually Billie told him everything. When he couldn't sleep, he would get Mike up to share in his pity or Mike would make up some hot chocolate for them both. Lately, Billie Joe had been keeping his distance. They spoke less and things seemed to have an awkward film around them. It hurt Mike to see his friend like this but it hurt more to think that it was his fault.

*********

The water soothed Billie's anger as it coursed over his naked skin. But it couldn't wash away the pain of Mike's rejection. He allowed himself to cry freely. Unable to hold himself up any longer, he sat on the floor of the bath and tucked his knees up to his chin. Here, behind the locked door, he was safe from the dismissal he saw in his friend's eyes; in here nothing could dismiss him.

Except himself.

He longed to rid himself of this feeling and to just enjoy doing what he loves most. He wanted to drown himself in the music, stand in front of a crowd and sing until his throat ached. Billie Joe would do anything to have those days back; the days when he didn't care.

"I should never have let him in." he whimpered, "I should never have let him get so close."

He cursed himself over and over.

"Fuck you!" Billie Joe slammed his fists against the fragile tiles on the wall.

It throbbed but he continued it over and over until fragments of clay came loose. Blood, from where the tiles had cut his fist, mixed with the water and ran down the drain in a flood of pink.

Billie Joe gently opened his clenched hands and studied the spider web of open wounds; some were deeper than others. They stung and his knuckles ached but he embraced it. He didn't know why but it felt good.

"BJ?!" Mike's voice rang from the other side of the door.

The handle was rattled and the wood pounded.

"Billie Joe!? Are you okay!?" He screamed urgently.

The singer didn't answer. He tried to say something but couldn't seem to find the words. Was he okay?

"I'm gonna break the fucker down if you don't answer me!"

Billie Joe lay back in the tub, let his right arm dangle over the edge and raised his face to the spray of water. Let Mike try. Let him worry.

"That's it!"

Mike began to kick at the door with the flat of his boot. Billie watched idly from the rub. He honestly didn't care if Mike succeeded in kicking the door down or not. What was there for him to see anyway? Some blood, swollen knuckles, smashed tiles and a very naked and wet Billie Joe. The singer didn't give a damn.  
With one last curse Mike sent the door flying inwards. It narrowly missed the toilet and towel rack. He staggered over the fallen barrier and knelt by the side of the bath.

"W-what the fuck?" he gently took hold on Billie's Wrist only for it to be pulled from him, "BJ? What the hell have you been doin' to yourself?"

"What do you care?" Billie spat.

"I care a hell of a lot! Now tell me what in the name of fuck is goin' on inside that head of yours!"

"Why should I Mike!? What business is it of yours what I do to myself or why?!"

"You're fuckin' insane BJ." Mike ignored Billie Joe's questions and reached over to turn off the running water, "Christ! Look at your hands." He mumbled.

"Get off me." Billie Joe pulled away from his touch.

"I'm tryin' to fuckin help you asshole!"

"Just – Just get out and leave me alone! Fuck off to Tre's o-or something."

"Tre? What does he have to do with this?"

"Did I mention him? I'm just telling you to fuckin get out of my face."

Mike rose to his feet and gazed, disgusted, down at Billie Joe. The singer met his sapphire eyes for only a moment before he found that he couldn't bare the anger behind them. Without another word, Mike strode from the bathroom and let the apartment. The front door was slammed hard behind him.

*********

Within the hour Billie was sitting with his legs folded, a tub of ice cream in his lap and a blanket around his shoulders watching a black and white 'Ghost'. He had his fists roughly bandaged and he had been rudely awakened to the fact that the knuckles on his left hand were broken, or close to it. The wounds were making a good job of bleeding through the bandages. But least did Billie care.  
He was angrily forcing the spoon into the still frozen treat and jabbing it until it came loose. It hurt, yes, but he was too peeved by his best friend's betrayal. He had walked out when the singer had clearly needed him.

He may have smashed his hands to shit for Mike's attention, and he has no problem with admitting that to himself, but instead of sticking by him Mike had left. It was clear that the bassist had made his choice.

As the movie moved on Billie felt guilt rise in his chest and tears invading his emerald eyes. It wasn't the movie, far from it; it was his sudden realisation of how he had acted. Childishly and selfishly; not even giving Mike time to explain. He had assumed that Mike had a crush on the man, that they were fucking or kissing in the corners; but where was the evidence? There was none. Not really.

He knew all this and yet he still wanted to blame Mike. It was a confusing mix of emotions, something like a teenager would feel and yet he was no longer a teenager. He was a young man. He should know better than to be so selfish and so spoiled.

Suddenly his ice cream seemed less appealing. Everything felt so messed up, so cold and uninviting. Never before had he felt so hurt by his own actions towards someone else; especially someone he loved. And what if he had driven the man away completely? Then what? He would have lost Green Day, lost his flat mate and lost his best friend. No, not best friend; His love.

He placed the cookie dough ice cream onto the coffee table and brought his knees to his chin. The blanket was pulled tighter around his shoulders, his head rested back against the couch and he allowed the tears to fall from his eyes. He bit his lip as his breath began to emerge in pained gasps.

What had he done?


	2. Chapter 2

Mike didn't go to Tre's. He wandered the streets, his hands balled into fists in his pockets and his head kept low. He ignored all the pedestrians around him and prowled straight towards his regular off licence. Here he purchased two full bottles of whiskey (although he wasn't twenty one he wasn't even asked for proof of his identification) and he left the store aiming to stroll down to the beach.

He sat below the peer in the shadows of the walk board. One brown bag was wedged in the sand while the other was grasped in his shaking hand. He couldn't tell if he was hurt or angry; or which emotion was stronger. All he could see was the image of his best friend sprawled, bleeding and pathetic, in the bath tub and his words were ringing in the bassist's ears. It was typical of Billie Joe to be so jealous; it was typical of him to make a scene and grasp for Mike's attention. But never like this. He had never hurt himself to get it and further more he had never neglected to share his feelings with him.

Mike took a swing of the bitter liquid and winced as it hit the back of his throat.

Since when was it so wrong to have another friend? Since when had he belonged to Billie Joe and only Billie Joe? He clenched the neck of the bottle and drank again. He wanted to forget the ache in his chest and only feel the anger.

By the end of the bottle he wanted desperately to hit someone or something. He watched the people roaming the sand from the shade of the walk board and cursed every last one of them. The second bottle was in his hand before he could even think to stop himself and the burn of the whiskey barely registered with him.

Billie Joe was awake again that night. He couldn't face the emptiness of the bedroom so he lay along the couch with his duvet pulled up to his chin. The TV was the only source of light in the grungy living area and the hum of the fridge was the only sound. The ice cream sat on the coffee table, now completely thawed and forgotten.

He was completely numb now; to emotion, to the pain in his own swollen fists and to the fact that his best friend had walked out the door. Would he ever come back? Billie didn't know. He had angered the bassist so much and accused him of such stupid things out of his own jealousy.

Yet he was still angry at the man. He was angry that he had ditched him for the drummer, spent days talking to Tre instead of his best friend and even brought him to their home and let him drink their fucking beer. All the while he had ignored the singer.

The telephone rang and jolted the man out of his musings. He jumped to attention and took hold of the receiver; he was hoping, by some miracle, that it was Mike.

"Billie Joe?"

It was Tre. Billie Joe cursed silently and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Yup." He snapped.

"Dude you needa get down to the hospital now man." His voice was trembling and in the background Billie Joe could hear the distant sounds of a busy waiting room.

His heart fell.

"W-whats happened?"

"It's Mike. I'll explain when you get your ass down here!"

The phone went dead. Billie scrambled for the closet in the corner, climbed into a pair of pants and threw on one of Mike's flannel shirts. The laces of his converse were quickly tucked into their sides. Even the locking of the apartment door seemed to take too much effort. He did all of this without feeling as much as a pinch from his hands; his panic had overtaken his senses.

The hospital wasn't far from the apartment and, not having a car, Billie Joe jogged through the pounding rain. He tripped when his converse came lose, his knee cracked off the sidewalk, his elbows stopped him falling further and he narrowly missed breaking his nose. But the shock of the impact on his forearms sent a blinding shutter right through to his hands and up along his biceps. He cried out in pain and gently tried to push himself back to his feet. There he knelt, whimpering, as he properly tied his shoes.

He marched the rest of the way with his hands tucked under each arm.

Tre sat in the family room with his head buried in his hands. The solitary atmosphere of the room was enough , to make anyone nervous, however they had went to the trouble of decorating it with paintings of beaches and vases of fake flowers as if trying to cover its initial purpose. Distorted voices rang through the corridors, followed by the rushing of feet and the urgent shouts of the nurses. Yet, it all seemed so far away inside that room; even the tick tick tick of the clock was in another world.

The drummer sighed and lent back into the cold leather of the chair. He had no idea what the hell had possessed Mike to do such a thing, to not only drink so much that he need medical attention but also to wind up breaking three of his ribs. How he had broken them still was unknown to both him and the medical staff.

Mike had knocked on his door at four that morning, hunched over and gasping for air. When he was invited inside to sit down, he proceeded to violently vomit into the sink and collapse to the floor. No explanation.  
Needless to say, Tre rang for an ambulance as soon as Mike hit the floor and sat with him in the back while the paramedics worked their magic.

Now he was here with no clue if his friend was alive or dead; no one had come near him in almost an hour. He felt helpless and invisible; how could he not have seen this coming?


	3. Chapter 3

"Where is he?"

Billie stood at the front desk in the reception. His hair was sticking to his forehead and the back of his neck. His eyes were bloodshot and tired. The blonde nurse stared, wide eyed, at the small man.

"Excuse me?" She asked.

"Mike! " He slammed his fist of the marble, "Where the hell is Mike?!"

The woman opened and closed her mouth unable to find him answer. The doors leading into the private rooms opened and Tre shuffled into the waiting area.

"BJ! Over here man. Stop hassling the woman." Tre bellowed.

Billie Joe smiled apologetically at the nurse and limped over to Tre. The drummer led him into the separate hallway.

"Dude what happened you hands?" he question.

Billie shook his head sadly, "Nothing."

"Doesn't look like nothing to me Bill." Tre sighed, "You should get that looked at while we wait—"

"Wait? For what? What's happened Tre? Where's Mike?"

Tre placed a hand gently between his shoulder blades and manpowered him into the family area. He sat upon his previous seat while Billie sat on the armchair beneath the window. Billie watched Tre with a grim expression; he tapped his foot upon the ground and chewed on his lower lip. Tre began to explain Mike's surprise visit and the joy of his brief company. He neglected to skip the details of the ride to hospital and he made sure that Billie knew Mike had done this on his own.

Billie sat silently when Tre was finished. He stared at the tops of his sneakers, his bandaged hands lying limply across his lap and his eyes brimming with tears.

"I'll go and get the doctor." Tre sighed.

He got up and exited the room without as much as a protest from Billie. The singer felt nothing but undying guilt for what he had done. As far as he was concerned, Mike was at deaths door and he, Billie Joe, didn't deserve any aid form paramedics for his self inflicted wounds. He stood up and checked out the window for any sign of Tre. When the man didn't appear around the corner, Billie slipped from the room and wondered aimlessly back into the waiting area.

He stepped up to the desk and the young nurse pointed him in the direction of the bathrooms. He placed a throbbing hand over his trouser pocket as he walked, checking for the small switch blade that he always kept there. How he was going to go about this, he had no clue, but he would make it work.

The guilt that he felt was over riding all other emotion. He was oblivious to all sound around him and the pain in his injured hands was nothing; they were numb to their own shattered bones.

He kicked open a cubicle with his foot, booted it closed again and slid the bar, with much ease, across. He slid down to the floor. The switch blade was gently taken from his pocket and he smoothed it across the naked fingers. The blood trickled from beneath the skin and yet he felt nothing. Not even a sting.

"Mike." He whispered, his voice was hoarse with muffled tears, "I – I'm so sorry."

He laid his left arm out along the top of his left knee; his right hand shook as he threw all caution to the wind and took a tighter grip of the blade. Quickly and without a second thought he drove the knife into the skin of his wrist. He drew a deep wound up to the crook of his elbow. A breath, he hadn't even realised he had been holding, escaped from his lungs. Already, the blood was flowing from the gaping wound and knew there was no chance he could even cut a shallow scrape into the other arm.

His head lent back against the cubicle wall and watched as the blood stained into his jeans. It was drastic, maybe insane, but it was better than living with the guilt he felt for his friend. His best friend. He chuckled to himself; really, who was he kidding? He had loved the man. If it was an ideal world he and Mike would have been together, made love, kept each other warm at night. But it wasn't an ideal world; far from it.

Billie had thought about this for a while. He had known for a long time what he wanted but he had been too scared to act upon it. Well, now, he had. His veins were filling with a new feeling; power.

*****

A doctor found Billie Joe, cold and lifeless. He had spotted the blood and carelessly beat in the locked door. By then, Billie Joe was well and truly gone. He had bled out onto his jeans, over his shirt and the tiles of the floor were caked with the dried liquid.

They tried to save him anyway; it was hospital policy after all. Ineviditably he was officially declared dead and whisked off to the morgue. Later Mike would complain that it was completely inappropriate and heartless to have taken his body away so soon, but he knew in his heart that he could not bare having his last imagine of Billie Joe an even bloodier one.

Needless to say the bassist was distraught. He kicked and screamed, pulled at the IV's in his arm and refused any medical attention from the doctors. Eventually he was sedated 'for his own good' and Tre was left to occupy himself with breaking the news to a woman he barely knew.

Ollie Armstrong's anguished cries were heartbreaking. The very look in her eyes was haunted, making her seem older than her actual years. Tre had no doubt that it was hard on her. He, kindly, did the hard task of signing the papers while she dictated, through mournful cries, all of the details needed. She really wasn't fit to do it herself, even talking about him was painful and it would be for years to come.

Ironically Mike blamed himself. At the funeral he spoke fondly of his memories of the singer's short life. Tre didn't speak for him. He felt it both inappropriate and awkward; mostly he knew Billie Joe wouldn't have wanted it.

It wasn't until years later, when both drummer and bassist had moved on to form other bands, that Mike's side of the story was disclosed.

"It was so stupid really." Mike sighed when there was nothing left to say.

Tre rubbed his knuckles against the stubble on his chin.

"Yeah." He paused, "Do you think that he thought we were, y'know, fucking?"

"I can't say it hasn't entered my mind. I knew he loved me in that way and if I am honest, I saw that in him as well. I just wanted to make you feel welcome around us, as friends and nothing more. Billie Joe took it entirely the wrong way."

"Humans are funny creatures." Tre said.

Mike chuckled, "Guess you could say that."

"Did you guys ever tell each other how you felt?"

"Obviously not Tre. And I'll tell you something, it is the biggest mistake I have ever made in my life."

"Even bigger than that waitress you fucked in Paris?"

" I'd say they are in the same league."


End file.
